Something nervous at the end of the line. 

The little chains of littler

shining droplets—the smallest spheres of the visible
filling everything
and being spherical
shining
with the information
of everything everything that can be known
crams itself into their evanescent chaining

you are a knot
and the knot has unraveled itself
and the cord
is made of the most intimate unimaginable kernels
of your nature
you have penetrated into a region of your own intelligence where
                                                                             indifference to all
of what turns out to be the mere
combinatorial play of the informations stashed within the chains
is hot with the full measure of your care

you care

but you don’t care about THAT—no prejudice regarding the outcome
                                                                      or the onrush of the specifications of the combinatory

all drawn up in a knot
and the knot dissolves—has already dissolved—has always dissolved

And without  phenomena